When We Could Die Tomorrow
by Rinpa
Summary: In the shinobi world, where we all know that we could die tomorrow, there're only two ways to deal with relationships.  Either you move fast, or not at all.  KakaYama


Disclaimer: All credit for Kakashi, Tenzou, and the world of Naruto goes to Kishimoto and the people involved with the production of the manga and anime. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

….

When We Could Die Tomorrow

In the shinobi world, where we all know that we could die tomorrow, there're only two ways to deal with relationships. Either you move fast, or not at all.

I've been watching Sempai for a long time now, and he does a little of both. It depends on the person. With the ones he could do without, like the woman who's chatting him up right now, he moves fast. He'll be easy… for _her_. It's the ones he cares for that he keeps at a distance. I like to think that means he cares for _me_. After all, how many years have I been patiently waiting for sempai to take the hint? I've lost track. That's how long it's been.

I have to admit, I'm not entirely sober. OK. I'm so hammered, I can't even lift my head anymore. I'm thinking that, as much as I'd rather be completely horizontal, I'm going to have to just pass out here, slumped over the bar. I'll regret it tomorrow. My head will be killing me no matter what—that's a given—but if I sleep like this the rest of me will be hurting, too. Can't be helped, though. I can't move a muscle.

But now I _am_ moving. Strange. No, I'm not moving, I'm being moved. Everything is spinning and lurching so wildly that I have to close my eyes, or I'll throw up. All I can do is cling to whatever is beneath me. It's not the bar anymore. It's warm. It's solid. Reassuringly firm, but not hard. Actually, it's pretty comfortable. This is a _much_ better place to sleep, where ever this is. The horrible lurching has settled into a gentle, rhythmic rise and fall. It's soothing, and I don't feel quite so sick. I venture to open my eyes again. My head is lolling on a shoulder; not my own, though it's padded with the same green vest. My arms are hanging limply down the front of this vest, and a can see my legs poking out on either side, clasped firmly under the thighs by a pair of gloved hands. I turn my head a little, and all I see is a silhouette in navy blue where there ought to be a neck, a jaw, lips, a nose. Well… not all. There _is_ the fringe of silver hair that's been tickling my ear.

Sempai is always too kind in situations like this. He doesn't get that I'd rather be left passed out at the bar—to wake up with the mother of all cricked necks and maybe to find that I've been tossed out in the gutter after the bar keeper's patience has worn out—than be touched like this by him. I've seen him carry Naruto like this too many times. I know just how much it means, and I know just how much it doesn't mean, and I don't want it. I don't want sempai to hold me with the kindness of a friend and mentor.

Can't be helped, though. I can't move a muscle.

Sempai's apartment is a block and a half away from the bar. Mine is all the way on the other side of town. He's taking me to mine. My build is slighter than his, but I must still be heavy. His hands are getting tired. His grip on my legs is slipping. He gives a little hop to readjust me on his back. The jolt makes my brain reel. I'm going to throw up. He has to let me down quickly and hold me as I wretch. Otherwise I'd just fall face forward in a pool of my own vomit and stay there. There's nothing more in my stomach, and after a few extra dry heaves, I stop, and just hang over Sempai's arm like a tattered rag. He's got his canteen out. He's holding it to my lips, tilting my head back. Water's sliding into my mouth. "Rinse," he suggests, and I do. "Spit," he suggests, and I do. He's wiping my mouth, stroking my back. When my breathing is even again, he hoists me onto his back, and continues the long trudge to my apartment. It's a very long trudge indeed. I'm still very far from sober when we finally reach it, but at least I don't fall down when sempai props me against my own door post and searches my pockets for my keys. He finds them, eventually, and lets us in. He doesn't pick me up again. He just slings my arm around his shoulder and steers me forward. It's a little early for me to do the whole walking thing successfully, even with Sempai supporting most of my weight, but somehow we manage. He's sitting me down on my own bed. I just fall sideways. I'm vaguely aware of him stripping off my vest, my kunai pouch, my shoes, and arranging my body in a more comfortable position, but I'm already slipping into sleep.

He's still there when I wake up, sitting quietly on the edge of my bed, passing the time with one of his books. He must have stayed to make sure I didn't throw up again and die choking on my own vomit. I turn my head and look at my clock. It's still only one in the morning. At least I can't have kept him long. He's noticed the movement. He's getting up and disappearing into the kitchen. He comes back with a full glass of water. He's ready to help me sit up, but I've recovered enough to be able to do that, at least. I take the glass from his hand and take a sip. My stomach still isn't in the best of shape, but it doesn't object to water, and I drink the rest. Sempai watches as I do, and looks satisfied. He takes the glass back, refills it in the kitchen, and puts it on my bedside table for me. He turns back to the bed and reaches for the book he left lying there, but he's not sitting back down. He's going to leave.

I must still be a little drunk. I'd never be doing this, otherwise. I've caught him by the shoulder. I won't let him leave. He's turning to me in surprise. I lurch forward, pull down the mask, and I kiss him. He doesn't do anything. He doesn't push me away, he doesn't kiss me back. I retreat and stare up at him. My expression is probably pathetic, but at least it will get the point across. I'm begging him not to let this moment go.

"Sorry, Tenzou." There's kindness in his voice, compassion, but also an unshakable resolve that chills me to the bone. He takes his book, he straightens up, he walks away. I don't stop him. I can't move a muscle. The door closes softly behind him, and I just stare at it.

I know this means he cares for me. I try to console myself with that. I try.

…

...I really am a fan of this pairing, I swear. It's actually my favorite, so I don't know how my first KakaYama fic turned out so gloomy. Hopefully next time I try, things will work out better for them.


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